


Crimes in Iacon

by pl2363



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers AU - Fandom
Genre: Ball Gag, Crime Fighting, Drugged Sex, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mystery, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Spike and Valve, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4400390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/pseuds/pl2363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz travels all over Cybertron looking for a good time, but gets way more than he bargained for in Iacon. Jazz is also not quite what Prowl first thinks, and the truth under the surface surprises them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A dark!fic! Please read tags before proceeding!

The music was loud. The bass thumped so hard, it was vibrating the bodies of those dancing on the club floor. It was Jazz’s night off from being on stage mixing beats, and he was drinking and having a grand time in the crowd.

Dancing with a taller, very cute-faced mech, Jazz arched into his dance partner’s touches. The mech leaned in close and shouted into Jazz’s audio. “Another drink?”

Jazz pulled back, huge grin on his lips as he fervently nodded, wanting to keep his buzz going.

The cute mech smiled brightly and then slipped away to presumably go to the bar. While waiting, Jazz continued to dance, and was soon joined by another mech. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as the one that just left to get them drinks, but he wasn’t ugly by any stretch. Lanky and painted in a dark purple, he gyrated his hips in a very enticing manner, which Jazz couldn’t help but respond to. Soon they were dancing close, and the mech gazed into his face, focusing on his visor.

“Love the visor!” the mech yelled over the music.

“Thanks!” Jazz replied with a grin.

His former dance partner returned with a drink, which Jazz quickly took a swig of. He then leaned in close to speak in his audio. “Thanks so much!”

The cute mech grinned, clearly pleased. They then began to dance together again, and he moved away from the lanky mech in favor of the cute one that bought him a drink. He downed the remainder of it, and after only a few minutes more of close dancing while letting his partner touch his headlight and aft a few times, Jazz noticed he was starting to feel dizzy. He tried to ignore the sensation at first, chalking it up to the heat and copious amounts of high grade he’d had. Soon the sensation was too much to explain away, and he was sure he would topple over if he didn’t get some cooler air cycling through his intakes.

He leaned in and spoke into his dance partner’s audio. “Be right back. You want another drink?”

The cute mech shook his head. “Nah, but come right back, ‘kay?” he said, hand giving Jazz’s aft a hard squeeze.

Chuckling, Jazz nodded, then waded out of the thick crowd toward the entrance of the club. He stepped just outside the doors and took a few deep breaths of cooler air. Despite the less crowded situation, Jazz felt just as dizzy as before, if not worse. He grabbed hold of the doorway tightly, trying not to fall over.

“You okay, buddy?”

He turned to look at who spoke, and the entire world seemed to spin on an axis, causing his sense of up and down to go completely awry. He was able to focus enough to see it was that lanky mech he’d danced with.

“Yeah, I think…” Jazz nearly toppled over and quickly grabbed hold of the wall with both hands. “Okay, yeah. Not feeling the best, I guess.”

“I’ve _got_ you,” the lanky mech replied, swooping in and slipping an arm around Jazz’s middle.

“I owe you,” Jazz replied with a laugh. “Knew I had a lot, but never been this drunk before I don’t think.”

“You aren’t drunk,” the lanky mech replied.

Confused, Jazz looked up at him. “What?”

“Should be more vigilant about your drinks. I slipped a little something in yours when you blew me off,” the mech holding him replied.

“Wait, _what?”_ Jazz tried to push away, but he was too out of it to coordinate his efforts.

Scooping Jazz up in his arms, the mech smiled down at him. “Let’s go have a fun play date, shall we?”

“No, _no!_ Lemmie...leeemie go!” Jazz’s speech slurred as his vision started to blur.

“Not for all the energon in the universe.”

The world felt like it tipped sideways, and suddenly Jazz was no longer able to stay online, succumbing to the effects and passing out in his kidnapper’s arms.

…

Waking, Jazz dimly lit his optics behind his visor. Confused as to why he felt uncomfortable, he looked down across his body, seeing he was lying on a berth with his limbs spread and bound to the corners. Frowning, he squirmed, testing how strong they were. The restraints hardly budged.

“Frag,” he whispered.

The lanky mech from the club appeared in the doorway, holding a container in his hands. “You’ve come around, I see. Now the real fun starts.”

“You don’t gotta do this, you know,” Jazz replied. “Untie me and I’ll show you a really _great_ time.”

Scoffing, the mech wandered over and sat down on the edge of the berth, holding the container in his lap with one hand while the other skimmed up Jazz’s body.  “Nothing you could do untied will compare to what I can do to you like this.”

“Reverse on top? Come on, that’s a fave. I’ve got great rhythm,” Jazz replied, trying to talk his way out of this.

His kidnapper pulled a tool from the container. Jazz recognized it. It was what medics used to remove plating. He tensed when the mech stuck the flat end where his interface panel was closed in place. With practiced ease, the tool dislodged the paneling, and he pried it off, tossing it to the the floor.

“Oh, a modded spike. Very nice indeed.” He fondled it as he gazed down at the classic flame pattern that adorned it. “Let’s get your valve all ready, though.”

Jazz felt a wave of sickness roil through his tank. “Seriously, I’m really great in the berth. Oh, and no one is as good at sucking a spike as me. So just untie me, and we’ll have a great time. Guaranteed.”

“Good to know about your oral skills, but I can’t risk being bitten. We’ll play how I choose.” Taking out a long false spike from the container, he pushed the head of it just inside the rim of Jazz’s exposed valve. “Normally I take my time, getting a new playmate’s valve nice and ready, but you are so gorgeous…” A wicked smile curled his lips. “I may need to partake in some action tonight.”

“Please… don’t do this…” Jazz replied, his spark twisting in his chest with fear.

“Enough talking.” The mech pulled out a ball gag from the container, and quickly slipped the straps over Jazz’s helm, ball filling his mouth completely. He then began to pump the false spike in and out at a languid pace for what felt like an eternity. It hurt more than felt good, the raw plastic of it rubbing at the barely lubricated mesh walls.

The longer he laid there, the more he began to realize there was no way out of this. First with objects, and soon with the real deal, Jazz was going to be violated and there was nothing he could do about it.

Removing the false spike, his attacker set the container on a table beside the berth. He rifled around. “There it is.” He pulled out a tube of lubricant, and his own array panel opened. He liberally spread the lubricant over his spike, which was already standing on point. “You are by far one of the prettiest ones I’ve caught. I plan on keeping you a few days, so get comfy,” he said with a dark smile.

Jazz bit on the ball in his mouth as the mech got himself into the proper position over him and then carefully pushed his spike inside his valve. His attacker groaned as he slid to the hilt. Jazz whimpered with his mouth full.

“Primus, that is a sweet valve.” The mech then began to slowly slide in and out, making sure Jazz was properly lubricated before he switched up his pace and started to pound away. Placing his hands on either side of Jazz’s helm to hold himself up, he pistoned his hips at a rapid pace, taking what he wanted from Jazz without permission. All Jazz could do was lie there with his spread legs, and whimper. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel good, either.

After several minutes of being raped, his attacker finally reached his climax. He pushed in deep, filling Jazz with streams of hot fluid. With a satisfied sigh, he pulled out and sat back on his heels, focusing on the debauched valve before him. Jazz could feel the liquid from his attacker's overload trickle down his aft.

“Lovely. Just lovely.” The mech tucked his spike away, array cover closing. “Well, I have to get some rest. I have work tomorrow, but when I get home, we’ll play more. This was a wonderful beginning to our play date.” The mech removed the ball gag, and before Jazz could respond, his mouth was enveloped in an unwanted kiss. As the kiss broke, the mech warmly smiled. “This ball gag looks so nice on you.” He then slipped it back in place, shoving the ball back into Jazz’s mouth before he could holler out for help. “Rest up.”

The mech then left the room, turning down the lights on his way out and shutting the door. Jazz whimpered and pulled on his restraints. He tried not to think about the disgusting feeling of fluid between his legs. How had this happened to him? Something in the back of his mind told him this was supposed to happen, though. He was fated to be here, but he shoved that stray thought aside, and started to softly sob. For the love of Primus, he hoped someone would come looking for him...

…

Time blurred. It had been days, but how many, he had no clue. No windows in this room masked the hour of the day. Jazz woke to his kidnapper standing beside the berth, hands fiddling with something. He tried to focus his optics, and it took a moment to register what looked off about the thin, tall mech’s appearance. His spike was suddenly no longer a long shape, but thicker. Frag. He had a vibrating mod on.

“And you rested well?” the mech asked, fully aware Jazz couldn’t answer in his current gagged state. “Today I wanted to stretch your limits. Possibly force a few overloads from you before our play time comes to an end. I hope you’re ready.” He reached into that same container and pulled out a hand held vibrator, which he carefully began to tie a rope around. Confused, Jazz squinted behind his visor. What was he doing?

It became clear as he wrapped the rope around Jazz’s middle and then looped it around his thighs to secure the vibrator up against the rim of his valve. He then turned it on. The vibrations reverberated through Jazz’s array. As much as he didn’t want it to, it did feel good. His valve slicked in response, and he whimpered with shame. As if being violated over and over the last couple days wasn’t humiliating enough, now this? To his horror, his body responded without his consent, valve tightening with want for something to fill it as the platelets at the entrance of his valve fluffed and swelled against the vibrator. His attacker smiled at that, and began to finger him, slowly sliding two digits in and out. Jazz’s whole body started to quake with an impending overload, and he whimpered louder.

“Once we get going, I will overload you back to back until you’re left completely spent,” his attacker said, clearly delighted with his plan.

Hips rising up as much as the restraints allowed, Jazz made a muffled cry as pleasure ripped through his array. Shuddering, he let the sensation wash through him. The mech didn’t stop pumping his fingers, and the vibrator remained in place. Jazz felt heat flash through his array, and soon his body was quivering all over again. Fraggit, he was going to overload a second time. The mech sank his fingers as deep as possible and rubbed at the swollen platelet area around Jazz’s valve entrance with his thumb just below the vibrator. That was enough to push him over the edge, and another overload claimed his frame. The same forced overload happened at least two more times, until Jazz was left panting and on the edge of passing out.

Removing the vibrator, his attacker then carefully nudged his spike encased in the mod piece just inside the rim. It not only make his spike thicker, but would vibrate and stimulate both of them. It was meant for partners of vastly differing sizes, and not for a valve Jazz’s size. Pushing it in, Jazz cried out around the ball, enduring a sharp pain from being stretched so much. His only saving grace being the multiple overloads that had lubricated the mesh walls now straining around the mod.

Soon he was being pounded into with the mod between them. It vibrated against the mesh of his valve, and he shivered as pain and pleasure both wove their way through his array at once. He was going to overload yet again, and his faceplates heated with embarrassment and shame.

“Oh, this is heavenly!” hIs attacker cried out.

Jazz whimpered and moaned, pleasure overtaking the pain in a horrifying moment. He overloaded, and so did his attacker, fluid spilling into him yet again out the end of the mod. Sagging his posture, his kidnapper hummed approvingly then withdrew.

“See? Aren’t you having a wonderful time?” the mech asked as he laid on his side next to Jazz. “Wish I could keep you longer. You are so lovely, and I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself this much in a long while.” He ran a hand over Jazz’s body slowly, gazing at the curves of his frame with lustful optics. “All good things must end, though.”

Jazz was exhausted and he hadn’t fueled other than a handful of high-grade energon gels that had been stuffed in his mouth at some point during his capture. An end, even one that included his death sounded pretty fragging fantastic right now.

The mech got up and circled the berth, picking up the tool meant for removing plating. Jazz frowned around the ball gag in confusion as the mech worked to remove a panel off his helm. “Be right back. Don’t move,” the mech said with a chuckle as he poked Jazz’s nose with the tip of his pointy finger.

A moment later he returned, rolling what looked like a piece of medical equipment to the side of the berth. Panic started to set in when he saw his attacker pull wires from the top console and begin to carefully clamp them in place against areas of his exposed processor. Once he was done hooking Jazz up, he turned on the monitor. Jazz surmised from what little he could see that this was a processor mapping system. It was used to locate glitches in mechs for medics to fix, so what was this aft doing with it?

Looking back at Jazz, his kidnapper sadly frowned and pet his chestplate. “I need one more time with you. Just one. Then we’ll end things.” He reopened his array and moved overtop of Jazz. He slid into him slowly and stayed buried there for a long beat. “You fit so much better than most,” he crooned.

Jazz would’ve purged at that had his fuel tank not already been empty.

Then it started _yet_ again. The rhythmic thrust, the soft pants, the hard spike throbbing, and the unwanted kisses and nuzzles to his cheek and face. Soon it reached a crescendo, and his attacker cried out in bliss, depositing more hot fluid inside Jazz. Pulling out, he smiled. “I’m so tempted to keep you…” Sadness flitted over his face. “But, I don’t live here alone, and my lover will be returning from his business trip tomorrow. He cannot find you here, or my secret trysts will be exposed.”

With more secrets divulged, and this stupid mech’s face etched into his memory, Jazz figured he was about to be killed. Resigned to that fact, he relaxed and awaited this ‘end’ he’d been promised.

The mech turned back to the medical equipment, and his fingers started to fly over the keys. Looking at Jazz, the mech dimmed his optics. “I will miss you.” His finger stabbed the console and whatever he’d programmed the medical device to do carried the signal over the wires and right into his processor. In the span of a second, Jazz’s whole world went black.

…

“Another one?” Prowl scowled at Ironhide.

“Yeah, he’s in the medical center.” Ironhide frowned. “Ratch said we should come by to take the vic’s statement whenever.”

“He remembers nothing, like the others?” Prowl asked.

“Doesn’t remember a fraggin’ thing,” Ironhide replied.

Pushing his seat back from his desk, Prowl got to his feet. “Then let’s see how he is faring, and if there is anything to glean from his moments leading up the black hole in his memory.”

They left the enforcer station, and walked toward the medical center.

“This makes twelve mechs, and no breaks in any of the cases. I dunno how this sick slagger is doing it, wiping their memories out,” Ironhide grumbled.

“My guess is, he is a medic or has had medical training. There really is no other viable explanation,” Prowl replied.

Reaching the medical center a few blocks away, they took the elevator up to a special wing meant for mechs who had endured various types of trauma.

Ironhide led the way to the room of the latest victim. “Betcha a pitcher of high-grade he’s as clueless and unhelpful as the others.”

“We shouldn’t place bets on victims, Ironhide.” Prowl then moved his doorwings into a lower, more respectful position as they reached the open doorway. “Besides, you never know when we might finally get a break in these cases.”

Ironhide chuckled a little at that. “For a realist, you can be pretty optimistic sometimes.”

Peering into the room, Prowl saw a black and white mech sitting on the berth with his legs pulled up to this chest, essentially curled up in a ball. Wires connected his partially exposed processor to scanning system. Ratchet stood at the monitor, zooming in on the various scans, examining them carefully.

“Ahem,” Prowl said, trying to gain the medic’s attention.

“I’m busy.” Ratchet replied, squinting at the screen.

“As are we all.” Prowl stepped into the room, looking at the victim. “I’m Prowl, and this is my partner on your case, Ironhide.”

“I know I said he was awake and you could drop by, but I said that like all of five minutes ago.” Ratchet finally looked away from the screen and narrowed his optics on Ironhide.

“We’re eager to interview ‘im. You _said_ it was okay,” Ironhide replied.

Prowl ignored the two of them since they often bickered. He moved to carefully sit on the end of the berth, matching gazes with balled up mech. “If you are up to it, would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

The mech shrugged. “Sure.”

“Well, first, what is your name?” Prowl asked.

“Jazz,” he replied.

“Are you from Iacon?” Prowl asked.

“Nah. I’m from Polyhex.” Jazz fingered his leg and dropped his gaze to the berth.

“What _is_ that?” Ratchet frowned and then started to furiously type notes into a datapad in his hand.

Prowl glanced at the screen, but he knew nothing of the intricacies of their processors. The scan meant nothing to him.

“You see who did this to you?” Ironhide cut in.

Jazz pulled in more on himself and shook his head.

Prowl held a hand up to stop Ironhide from asking anything more. The two exchanged looks, but Ironhide backed down with an annoyed sigh. Refocusing on Jazz, Prowl carefully folded both hands in his lap. “Are you here visiting Iacon?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah. I’m a music mixer, MM. Been mixing at the Blue Cube dance club,” Jazz replied.

Prowl’s optics darted to the visor on the berthside table for a moment, then back to Jazz. “Is that a specially modified visor? One that records, perhaps?”

Jazz shook his head as he looked at it. “Nah. Just this cheap one I got in Polyhex. Thought I looked cool with it. Makes me stand out when I mix on stage.”

Prowl nodded. “Where do your memories start to reach a gap?”

“Lost track of time, but I think it was a few days ago? I was in the club dancin’. It was my night off, and I was having a good time. That’s all I remember, really.” Jazz frowned. “Not what’cha wanted to hear, I bet.”

Sadly smiling, Prowl very lightly pressed his hand over one of Jazz’s. “It’s a place to start. Thank you.”

“Prowl, Hide, I want to meet with you before you go. We can speak in private in my office.” Ratchet had a funny look on his face. “Just let me get Jazz settled in for some rest first.”

They both nodded.

“We’ll speak again soon, Jazz,” Prowl said, holding the mech’s gaze for a moment before he stood and followed his partner out of Jazz’s room and down the hall toward Ratchet’s office.

“Ratch saw somethin’,” Ironhide said, glancing back at the room over his shoulder for a moment.

“I’m very curious what it is,” Prowl replied as they entered the office to wait. “Hopefully a break we so desperately need.”

After a couple minutes, Ratchet came in and plugged his data pad into his monitor. "That mech has got to be an enforcer."

Prowl canted his head. "Why would you say that?"

"He's not your average mech whoever he is... Look." Ratchet pointed to a line of coding on screen. "His memory core was erased, but there is a back up memory. Everything that would be committed to a memory core is duplicated in this walled off section of his processor."

"That's like the undercover 'forcers. They got special adaptations like that," Ironhide replied.

"Then why wouldn't he simply tell us he's undercover?" Prowl asked.

"Maybe he doesn't know?" Ratchet offered, clearly baffled.

"How can he not know?" Ironhide scoffed at the idea.

Unconcerned with the why, Prowl was much more curious about the memory copy itself. "Is there a way to access the memory without unleashing it back on the victim?"

Ratchet rubbed his chin. "Possibly. Give me a little time to try and extract a copy of the memory. I'll get back to you on that."

“Anything else you can tell us?” Ironhide asked.

“He was raped for several days. I had to make repairs to his valve lining, and he’d only been fed energon gels of high-grade, like the ones rich mechs tend to serve at parties. Same as the others,” Ratchet replied with a frown.

Prowl softly sighed. “He seemed rather traumatized.”

Ratchet pursed his lips. “Well, he was sort of doing alright until I started hooking him up for the scans. He kinda flipped out and it took me and a couple nurses holding him down so I could give him a little something to calm him down.”

That piece of information caused Prowl to deeply frown. He wished he’d known he was questioning a drugged mech. “I would like to come speak with him again, then. In an un-altered mental state.”

“Come back in like three hours, then. What I just doped him up with to force him to recharge will have worn off by then,” Ratchet replied.

“I will,” Prowl replied.

…

Jazz woke, his optics dimly lighting. He sighed as he looked around the hospital room. He’d come to Iacon to mix music, meet new mechs, and have a good time. This wasn’t in his plans for this trip.

He pushed to sit up, his sore frame protesting the movement. His elbow and knee joints were extremely stiff, but since he didn’t remember the attack he didn’t know why they ached so much. He rubbed around his knee joints, frowning. It was strange to know he’d been assaulted but have no memory of it happening. His valve also hurt, and he knew that meant he’d probably been raped, too. Not that he remembered that part, either. It was like a part of him was just gone. Missing. Lopped off.

Glaring at the processor-scanning machine in the corner of the room, he decided he was well enough to leave. He really didn’t want another invasive scan. Sliding off the berth, he groaned a little in response to the pain of being on his feet. Nothing he couldn’t handle, though. Grabbing his visor, he snapped it in place and then wandered toward the door to his room. He peered out, seeing the nurses at their station down the hall. If he was casual, he could probably stroll right past them to the elevator and get the frag out of this place.

Taking in a deep breath of air, he let it slowly escape his intakes to steady himself. Feeling as calm as he was going to get, Jazz stepped out of his room and sauntered down the corridor unnoticed. Reaching the elevator, he pressed the button to go down and then stood back. “Almost free,” he whispered to himself.

The doors opened and to his horror he came face to face with that enforcer that had come by earlier.

“Jazz?” The enforcer’s doorwings perked up on his back as worry flitted over his face. “Are they releasing you already?”

Backing up a step, Jazz opened his mouth then snapped it shut with a deep frown. Fraggit. Just his luck.

Stepping off the elevator, Prowl gently touched his arm. “Jazz?”

“Just wanted to get outta here,” Jazz admitted with a frown.

“Have you been mistreated?” Prowl asked.

Jazz snorted and mirthlessly laughed. “Not by the medics, no. But I don’t remember anything ‘bout what happened, so I’m no use to you. I just wanna get out of this place. I hate medical facilities.”

“How about we go for a walk?” Prowl suggested, sticking out his hand to keep the elevator doors open.

Perking up a little at that, Jazz stared at Prowl. “Really?”

“There is a very nice little cafe a few blocks away,” Prowl replied.

“Gonna make me come back here?” Jazz asked.

“Do you want the truth?” Prowl asked.

Jazz genuinely smiled, finding Prowl funny even though he was sure it was unintentional on the enforcer’s part. “Yeah. Lay it on me.”

“I am bound by my duty to protect. I will bring you back here if I feel you require further medical attention or observation,” Prowl replied.

“And if I seem alright, I can go live my life?” Jazz asked.

“That is a possibility,” Prowl said, stepping back. “Let’s go for a short walk and see how things progress from there.”

Jazz stepped into the elevator. Worst case scenario, he’d just give this enforcer the slip, but so far Prowl had been pretty straight up with him. Unlike most everyone else who’d poked and prodded at him here, he felt he could trust this enforcer.

…

Ratchet worked on the memory files he’d downloaded, trying various methods of extraction in hopes of unlocking the memories without having to do so inside his patient’s processor.

Jazz was the twelfth one. Twelve mechs that Ratchet had repaired valve linings for. Twelve mechs with blanked out memories. He didn’t want there to be a thirteenth one.

He was also troubled by the fact that there were duplicated files. This was a software modification that had to be done by a medic trained in processor function, and one reserved for enforcers use only in Iacon. Mucking around inside anyone’s processor could lead to numerous issues, so they were always very careful. Why did this mech who appeared to be nothing more than a young club goer and MM doing with such a modification to his software?

Ratchet huffed and leaned back in his seat, staring at the lines of code. While he was trained in this sort of coding, it didn’t mean he was an expert at it. He needed someone more talented in this field. He popped out the datafile, and got to his feet. There was one mech he knew who might be able to help him.

…

The cafe was nice. It was cozy, and filled with booths so it felt more private than open bar layouts.

Jazz sipped at his warmed energon, optics dimming with delight at the taste. “So much better than that slag at the medical center.”

Prowl chuckled at that. “Glad you like your drink.” He slowly sipped his own and warmly smiled at Jazz. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno.” Jazz shrugged. “I know bad slag just happened to me, but I don’t remember any of it. So I think I should be upset, but I don’t _feel_ upset.”

Prowl sadly frowned. “There is a support group started by the first victims. I can put you in touch with them, if that might be of help.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna stay in Iacon, honestly,” Jazz replied. “Just go home. Try and forget any of this happened.” Jazz smirked a little. “I wasn’t trying to make a bad joke, I swear.”

Prowl half-smiled. “As an enforcer who’s been chasing this criminal for almost two years, I would prefer you stay. When he is finally found and brought to justice, you and all the others will be very important in putting him away.”

Jazz fingered his drink. “You’re being awfully nice to me.”

Doorwings lowering a little, concern flickered over Prowl’s face. “I just want to help you and the others.”

“Right, I know,” Jazz replied. He had very little faith in the system, especially if they’d been chasing this mech for two years with no results.

“Would it be alright if I asked a few more questions?” Prowl asked, hope lacing his voice.

“Sure, shoot,” Jazz replied.

“How long have you been a Music Mixer?” Prowl asked.

“Uh, like, forever?” Jazz chuckled. “I like traveling, so I go from area to area, MM’ing at popular clubs.”

“But you consider Polyhex your home?” Prowl asked.

“Well, yeah,” Jazz replied. “Where I was born and bred and all that.”

Pensive look on his face, Prowl canted his head. “In Polyhex, do you have friends and an apartment or property you live at?”

“Course I do,” Jazz replied, confused by Prowl’s line of questioning.

“May I have your address?” Prowl asked. “In case you do return home and I need to contact you.”

“Sure, it’s Alpha Circle, downtown Polyhex,” Jazz easily replied.

Taking out a small datapad, Prowl input the address, saving it.

Jazz leaned forward a little. “Can I ask _you_ something?”

“You may ask, but depending on the information I may or may not be able to answer,” Prowl replied.

Jazz snorted and laughed. “You’re too funny.”

Furrowing his brow, Prowl looked confused. “I wasn’t trying to be ‘funny’?”

“I know, which makes you even cuter, honestly,” Jazz replied with a huge grin, which got even bigger when he saw Prowl’s doorwings twitch at being called ‘cute’. “What I was wonderin’ was, is there something about my case that’s different? ‘Cause you and that medic seem pretty keen on me, while your partner didn’t seem to think I had anything worthwhile for you.”

Prowl ran his fingers around the rim of his glass of energon. “Yes, there is more to your particular case. I don’t know that it’s my place to inform you of something medical, however.”

“Medical?” Jazz tensed at that. “Something’s wrong with me?”

“No, nothing like that,” Prowl replied. “I feel odd telling you any of this, though. Especially if Ratchet hasn’t spoken to you about it.”

Jazz frowned and sank into his seat. “I knew you were lyin’.”

“I never lied.” Prowl looked affronted by the accusation.

“You said I didn’t have to go back the medical center, but you’re totally takin’ me back there, aren’t you?” Jazz asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Confused, Prowl shook his head. “I stated that if you required further medical attention I would be duty-bound to return you there. I don’t see how that has anything to do with my reluctance to tell you something about your medical history.”

“It’s code. You don’t tell me somethin’ because you rather the medic tell me, and that means leaving me back in that place,” Jazz replied.

Doorwings lowered and Prowl shook his head. “You are physically healthy. You don’t seem traumatized by the events now that you are no longer drugged, which considering your lack of memory is not surprising. I have seen no reason to return you to the center based on what I previously promised.” Straightening his posture in his seat, Prowl then folded his hands on the table. “That said, you have no residence here in Iacon, and the hospital will provide you proper shelter and care for the time being. In addition, I would selfishly like you to stay on a little while longer in case I need your further assistance.”

Jazz frowned at Prowl. “Medical centers make my plating crawl. I hate ‘em. But I do wanna help if I can. I just don’t wanna stay there.”

“Where have you been staying during your visit?” Prowl asked.

“A friend’s place. But I was supposed to be heading back to Polyhex already and I know his couch is being used by another friend of ours, so he’d be outta room for me now,” Jazz replied with a sigh.

Prowl looked at Jazz. “I would be more than willing to put you up in a hotel.”

“I don’t have that kinda credits on me,” Jazz replied.

“No cost to you, I would pay for it.” Prowl smiled just a little. “Let me help you out. It would mean a lot to me.”

This enforcer was pretty fragging cute, making it really hard to turn him down. Plus, Jazz could really use some alone time someplace like a hotel to get his mind back together. “Okay, but on one condition. You tell me what the medic told you.”

Prowl looked conflicted for a moment, but then he nodded. “Fair enough. But know I’m no medic, so this is just what he mentioned to me… You have an unusual software upgrade for your processor. All of your memories have been copied and stored in a walled off area of your mind. It’s something we as enforcers will use for undercover officers in case they are compromised. What is curious, is that you are not an enforcer. There is no need for such invasive software in your processor.”

“Wait–” Jazz held his hands up. “My memories of what happened to me are still in my processor, just not in my memory core?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied.

Jazz felt a strong pain suddenly flare inside his head, like a processor-ache coming on really fast. He winced and grabbed the side of his helm that was suddenly throbbing.

“Are you alright?” Prowl asked, doorwings lifting up on his back.

Almost as fast as the pain came on full force, it dispersed, and Jazz relaxed. _That was odd_ , he thought. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a weird pain, but it’s gone.”

“Could be residual from the memory erasure,” Prowl replied.

“Probably.” Jazz sighed. “I got no clue why I’d have dupes of memories. Not sure I really want to remember what happened to me, to be honest. Well, I mean, part of me feels like I wanna know. Like a huge chunk of me is just missin’ now. But if it’s as horrible as I imagine I don’t really think it would help to know?”

“There is no rush to decide about your memories right now. How about I take you to the hotel I have in mind and get you settled in?” Prowl replied.

Jazz nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. I owe you.”

Prowl shook his head. “You owe me nothing. I’m more than happy to help out.”  
Having a cute enforcer looking after him was an unexpected bonus. If he was going to be stuck in Iacon longer than he planned, at least he was in seemingly good company.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl gets a huge break in the case, and Jazz deals with the aftermath of what happened to him.

“This is incredibly fascinating,” Perceptor said, zooming in on the scans and looking over coding he had open in a secondary window of his computing console.

Ratchet huffed. “So can you open the memory file? _Without_ opening it in my patient’s processor?”

“I think so,” Perceptor replied. “Are you positive he is not part of Public Enforcement?”

“I’m sure. He’s just one of those club brats,” Ratchet replied.

Perceptor’s long black finger pointed to the coding window. “His processor is divided into many sections. I’ve not seen anything like this before.”

Ratchet sat forward in his chair. “That’s what all that is? I wasn’t sure.”

“Yes. It’s quite odd.” Perceptor’s fingers flew over the console keys and Ratchet watched as he isolated the time frame for the memory they were hoping to view.

“The secondary memory cache had copies of the original memory, but they are smaller than a normal memory file,” Perceptor explained as he dragged the isolated code of the memory over to program that worked to convert the information to a visual display format.

“What does that mean? Is it corrupted?” Ratchet asked.

“No, it’s compressed. There are two ways to achieve that, either with a series of still image captures and no sound or else a lower resolution version of the original memory.” Perceptor clicked on the converted file and a series of stills began to play.

“So image captures…” Ratchet said with a frown. “Just warning you, this mech was, ah, raped.”

Perceptor grimaced a little, but didn’t look away from the screen as he nodded. “Let me speed up the playback.”

On the screen from Jazz’s point of view, they saw mechs he danced with, and then saw one at the entrance to the club. No audio meant they could only guess at the words the mech on screen was saying to Jazz. The playback then switched to seeing Jazz strapped to the berth and that mech from the club crawling over top of him. It played out the horror he’d endured image by image.

“Proof of your serial rapist caught in the act,” Perceptor said, optics dimming.

“You can pause that. I’ll take it to Prowl and Hide,” Ratchet replied.

Pausing it, Perceptor frowned. The image still was of the attacker’s face. He leaned in closer to the screen.

“See something?” Ratchet asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, it’s probably nothing,” Perceptor replied. He saved the converted memory file and gave Ratchet a copy. “I am intensely curious about the victim's strange processor sub-structure. Would you mind if I continue to work out it’s odd functionality?”

“Go for it,” Ratchet replied. “I got a criminal to help catch, so I’ll leave you to it.”

…

“Whoa, this place is really nice,” Jazz said walking into the hotel room.

Prowl followed him inside, and looked around at what he considered a modest space. He glanced at Jazz, and smiled when he saw his gobsmacked expression. “Happy to hear it’s to your liking.”

“Gotta remember, I usually recharge on couches or floors,” Jazz said with a lightness in his voice. Walking to the berth, he sat down and laid back on the plush padding. “Oh yeah, this is like heaven. Especially since I’m so sore still.”

Prowl’s doorwings perked up at that. “You’re in pain?”

“Just sore. This is way better for aching joints than a med berth anyday,” Jazz replied with a contented sigh.

Prowl frowned a little. He knew Ratchet would be livid once he found out Jazz was gone, but even in the short conversations they’d had, it was clear Jazz was a flight risk. It was better to placate him so he’d stay rather than try to force him into something he was clearly unwilling to do.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to put an officer on the door. Just in case you need something,” Prowl said after a moment.

Turning his head, Jazz shrugged. “I guess. But, I want some alone time.” He pushed up onto his elbows. “I don’t mind if _you_ want to drop by, but other than that, I wanna take a good long soak and recharge without being drugged. Not necessarily in that order.”

Firmly nodding, Prowl smiled a little. They’d had an almost instant rapport, which he was doing his best to help keep going in order to remain in Jazz's favor. “Let me leave you my private comm link line, and you can call me any time, day or night.” Prowl pulled out one of his business cards and carefully set it on the berthside table.

“Cool.” Jazz then scooted back and then curled up on his side on the berth. “Primus, I’m tired.”

“I’ll leave you to rest, then,” Prowl replied.

“Sit with me? ‘Til I drift off?” Jazz asked. “Or is it weird of me to ask?”

Prowl moved closer and then gracefully sat down on the edge of the berth. “It’s not a strange request. You’ve endured a traumatic event, even if you can’t remember it. If you like, I can contact your friends here in Iacon. Have them stop by?”

Jazz snorted and laughed. “When I say ‘friends’ it’s more like other MMs or acquaintances. I don’t really _know_ them.” He pulled off his visor and Prowl took it, setting it beside his card on the table. “Honestly, I don’t think I have–” Jazz curled up tightly in a ball, optics flickering off. “– _real_ friends...”

Prowl’s spark practically broke as he watched Jazz slip offline. He’d been so confident and sure of himself, but now he was curled up in that same protective cocoon Prowl first saw in the medical center. He knew better than to get personally involved in his cases, but something about this mech was breaching his usual barriers. Jazz was far from home, he’d been hurt, and was all alone.

“I _will_ catch who did this,” Prowl whispered.

…

 

_Impaled over and over, Jazz writhed on the berth, moaning. The beautiful mech overtop of him thrust hard and fast, grunting slightly with his efforts._

_Jazz wasn’t usually one to go home with a mech he met in a bar, but he’d had a terrible day at work. Being blamed for a mistake on project that wasn’t his fault had soured his mood. After a few drinks and a bit of chatting with this mech, he’d been more pliable than usual, accepting the invitation to come home with him._

_“Frag, you feel amazing!” The beautiful mech commented as he thrust to the hilt._

_Jazz had been rendered a quivering pile, unable to coherently reply. He mumbled something, but in truth he was too wrapped up in the pleasure throbbing between his legs to properly form words._

_Leaning down, the mech over him mouthed his neck, his thrusts slowing. Jazz lifted his legs, hooking his feet over his lover’s back, giving better access to his valve._

_“Primus, you’re hot,” the mech said before resuming a more bruising pace._

_“S’close,” Jazz whimpered, his impending overload inching closer and closer._

_“Gonna fill you up,” the mech replied as he bit down playfully on Jazz’s collar fairing, while his spike stretched his valve with each sharp thrust._

_“Frag!” Jazz arched his chest up as an intense overload quickly claimed him. His valve grasped tightly at the spike buried deep in him and it lasted a long, blissful moment, leaving his whole frame shuddering from the sensation of pure pleasure._

_“So tight,” the mech moaned, holding himself in place until Jazz finished. He then resumed his previous pace. It only took a few more thrusts before heated fluid suddenly flooded Jazz’s valve, drawing a smaller secondary overload from him._

_Completely spent, the beautiful mech sagged overtop of Jazz, and sighed. “Such a sweet little valve you’ve got. Gonna get a good price.”_

_Dazed from his overload, Jazz wasn’t sure he understood what this mech was talking about, but he felt too good right now to care._

_“Do me a favor,” the mech said as he pushed up and pulled out of Jazz. “Roll over to your front.”_

_Jazz grinned at him. “I love being ‘faced from behind.” He did as he was asked, rolling over and sticking his aft up to wriggle it enticingly._

_“Heh, very cute,” the mech replied, giving his aft a hard slap. “But I’m done with the test drive.”_

_“Test drive?” Jazz asked, confused. Suddenly both his arms were pulled back and stasis cuffs were snapped in place. “Uh, I’m not into that kinda thing. Take these off.”_

_“You think I have this huge house in downtown Polyhex because I manage apartments?” the mech said, laughing. “No. I find little gems like you, and sell you off to the highest bidder. I always try my merchandise out beforehand, though.”_

_The blissful daze of post overload instantly dissipated. “Wait, are you bein’ serious?” Jazz twisted to look at the beautiful mech that had been so kind and understanding at the bar only a few hours before._

_Using a cloth, the mech wiped Jazz’s splattered thighs and leaking valve down. “Very serious.” Once he was done, he reached under Jazz, forcing his array cover closed with rough fingers. “Okay, up you go.” Yanking on his bound wrists, Jazz was forced off the berth. He stood, staring in horror at this mech he’d trusted. “Show them all your assets.”_

_Jazz then let his gaze quickly dart around the large berthroom, seeing a huge wall mounted mirror. Suddenly he felt sick. “That mirror…”_

_“My buyers are behind it, yes. Quite a lovely show you gave them,” the mech replied as he shoved Jazz toward it. Touching a panel of controls on the wall next to the mirror, the reflective surface turned off, making it a window instead. Inside were several mechs who all had optics glued on him. “The bidding will start at fifty-thousand, gentlemechs.”_

_Jazz tried to back up, feeling horribly violated and exposed. He felt tears start to surface on his optics, and began to shake where he stood. “Please don’t do this.”_

_“He will make an excellent slave with some proper training,” the mech said._

_Through the window he saw the mechs hold up little sticks with their proposed bids written on them._

_“Highest bid is one-hundred thousand, anyone wish to go higher?” The mech spun Jazz around and groped his aft. “This is one fine aft, and I can attest to the tightness of his valve.”_

_Jazz started to openly sob when suddenly the berthroom door was kicked down. Enforcers came pouring into the room. Jazz was ripped out of the mech’s grasp, and he watched as the glass of the mirror-window was smashed. Everyone involved was captured and cuffed._

_“You did an excellent job,” one of the enforcers said to Jazz._

_“I what?” Jazz shook his head. What was going on?_

_“Let’s get you to medical. Let them pop into that head of yours,” the enforcer replied._

_“No! I hate medical centers! Don’t–”_

Jazz bolted upright in the berth. “-take me there!” he shouted. Optics bright, he was confused by his surroundings. “I... that was a dream?”

“Jazz?” Prowl got up from the guest couch in the room and moved to the side of the berth. “Are you alright?”

“I had the most whacked out dream,” Jazz replied, shaking his head. “I…” His fuel tank felt uneasy. “I’m gonna–” He moved as fast as he could, scrambling off the berth toward the washrack. He made it a few steps in before he dropped down to his knees and purged the fuel in his tank all over the floor.

“Jazz!” Prowl was at his side, arm wrapped around him. “I’m taking you back to the medical center. Something isn’t right.”

Shoving at Prowl, Jazz felt a rise of anger. “Don’t you fraggin’ dare take me there! I’ll run away and you’ll never see me again before we even get close to that place!”

Clearly shocked by his strong reaction, Prowl held up both hands defensively. “Will you at least let me call Ratchet to come and see you here? Just to be sure there is nothing physically wrong with you? _Please?_ ”

Jazz wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded. “Okay. But you stay here the whole time when he’s lookin’ at me.”

“I can certainly do that,” Prowl replied. He then got to his feet, plucking a smaller cloth off the pile of clean ones and wetting a corner in the sink. He then knelt down, and gently wiped Jazz’s face, removing the evidence of his purge.

Jazz stared at Prowl, and sadly frowned. What was it about this mech he trusted so much? Was it his handsome face? The fact he was being so kind to him? Listening to him?

“I can clean up in here, if you want to lay back down?” Prowl offered.

Glancing at the purged fuel, Jazz sighed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Prowl responded.

“I mean,” Jazz looked back at him. “I’m clearly fragged up. My life’s a disaster. I don’t even have anyone I would call a real friend. So why bother with me at all?”

Prowl seem to struggle with what he wanted to say for a long moment. “Jazz,” he took hold of one of Jazz’s hands. “I want to help you. And on a more personal level, I understand how alone you must feel. I don’t have any close friendships myself, and throw myself into work because it’s the only place I feel I fit. If I were in your situation, I’d want support, so… I’m offering you _my_ support.”

Smiling just a little, Jazz dimmed his optics. “Thank you. I’m not used to being treated like this. Too bad you’re a cop, though.”

“Why is that?” Prowl asked.

“I’d be falling head over heels for you if you weren’t the cop on my case,” Jazz admitted.

Prowl’s doorwings twitched upward at that. “Perhaps after I arrest the responsible party, we can consider other avenues of friendship.”

Genuinely smiling at that, Jazz squeezed Prowl’s hand. “That’d be cool.”

“In the meantime, how about you settle back in on the berth, and I’ll comm to have Ratchet come check you over?” Prowl asked, though Jazz knew it wasn’t really a question.

“Okay.” Jazz got to his feet, and wandered back into the main part of his hotel room, flopping back on the berth.

What was going on with him? Had that been a dream? It didn’t line up with what he’d been told about the mech that kidnapped him and held him for days. Maybe it was just anxiety from not remembering rearing it’s ugly head in a horrible nightmare? He rolled to his side, watching Prowl wipe up his purge from the washrack floor. He really was a lovely looking mech, and he’d had always had a thing for doorwings. But he knew it was more than Prowl’s looks that caused him to gaze wistfully at him. “Think I might already be head over heels,” he whispered to himself.

…

In the hallway, Prowl and Ironhide waited for Ratchet to finish examining Jazz.

“Can’t believe you booked him here and didn’t say anything to me,” Ironhide said, giving Prowl a pointed look.

“I was going to comm you and let you know after he woke,” Prowl replied with a small frown and shrug of his doorwings. “I didn’t expect him to wake up shouting like he did, followed by purging his tank.”

Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest and half-smiled. “You got a little crush on this one?”

Prowl’s doorwings flattened against his back and shot Ironhide a disapproving look. “Of course not.”

“I think you’re awfully quick to protest the idea,” Ironhide replied with a grin. “Come on, gotta admit he _is_ a looker.”

With an exasperated sigh, Prowl crossed his arms and looked away. “I would never act inappropriately with a victim.”

“Never said that you would, but-”

The door opened, thankfully ending a conversation Prowl really didn’t want to have with his partner right now.

Ratchet stepped out, rubbing the back of his helm with one hand as he shut the door with the other. “He’s fine. Just a rough nightmare that shook him up. I got some fuel in him and he’s gonna take a pass through the wash rack.” Ratchet then looked at Prowl. “You shouldn’t have let him leave the medical center, though.”

“He was leaving one way or another, at least this way he’s not on his way back to Polyhex already,” Prowl replied.

“I’d be more fragged off at you, but I have something that should help crack your case. I was on my way back with it when you comm’ed.” Ratchet pulled out a small data-stick. “A playable version of his duplicated memory file is on here. Turns out it’s compressed, so it’s just a series of stills without audio, but it’s all there. The face of the rapist.”

Prowl took it from Ratchet’s grasp, staring down at the key to unlocking all twelve cases at once.

“You go back and deal with that, Prowl. I’ll stick around and stand guard for our little runaway witness here,” Ironhide said, patting Prowl on his arm.

Prowl sharply nodded, and held the data-stick in a firm fist. “I’ll send over the details as soon I have them.”

…

Standing under the hot water in the wash rack, Jazz rubbed his elbow joints. The heat felt good on his aching body. Other than general soreness, he was feeling much better now. Ratchet had given him some medical-grade energon enriched with all the good stuff Cybertronians needed pumping through their lines. After looking over practically every micrometer of Jazz’s body, the medic seemed satisfied he was physically healthy.

Whether Jazz was mentally stable seemed to be a whole other issue, though. He’d admitted to Ratchet it was that bad dream that led to his purging, and the medic seemed to think it was his processor trying to make sense of the erasure in his memory core. Jazz wasn’t sure he believed that, though.

The dream had been so vivid. It almost felt like it was really happening. Maybe he was completely glitched now? Jazz sighed and turned off the water, trying to shove the disturbing imagery away from the forefront of his mind. He stepped out of the stall and began to dry his plating. Pushing the cloth over his frame he wondered where the attacker he couldn’t remember had touched him. He winced at that thought, and tossed the cloth to the floor. “Stop thinking ‘bout all this dark slag,” he chided himself.

He had hoped Prowl would be in the main hotel room waiting for him, but alas he was alone when he emerged from the wash rack. He glanced at the door. Maybe Prowl was outside? Opening the door, he was disappointed to see the large red mech, Ironhide standing guard.

“Oh, hey there,” Jazz said, forcing a smile. “So you’re stuck bot-sitting me, huh?”

Ironhide nodded. “Yep.”

“Where’s your little Praxian partner?” Jazz asked.

The stoic expression on the large mech’s face gave way to a smirk. “He’s chasing down a lead for your case. You’re stuck with me I’m afraid.”

Jazz couldn’t deny he was a little disappointed, but this might be a good opportunity to get a little info about Prowl from his partner. “Wanna come in? Seems silly to stand ‘round out here.”

Ironhide canted his head. “Prowl said you wanted some alone time. I don’t wanna trample on your space.”

“I _did_ think I might want some time to get my head together, but honestly I just keep thinkin’ ‘bout slagged up stuff. I’d love a distraction,” Jazz replied. “If you wanted to come in and hang out, I’d be cool with that.”

Ironhide hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure.”

The larger mech stepped into the room and then sat down on the guest couch, which his massive frame took up most of. Jazz plopped down on the berth and sighed.

“So you guys have a break in the case then?” Jazz asked.

“Not sure yet, but hopefully. Prowl is chasing down something right now,” Ironhide replied.

Jazz half-smiled at the attempt to be elusive. “My duped memories?”

Ironhide’s optics brightened. “Yeah. The doc tell you ‘bout them?”

“Actually, Prowl did. But the medic mentioned it, too, after he looked me over,” Jazz replied.

“Well, if luck is on our side, we should have an image of your attacker to start circulating,” Ironhide replied.

Jazz nodded at that, then he fingered the edge of the berth. “So… How long have you and Prowl been partners?”

Ironhide laughed, and shook his head. “Gotta work on your subtlety, kid.”

“What?” Jazz grinned. “Maybe I wasn’t tryin’ to be subtle.”

Shaking his head, Ironhide laughed some more. “You have a little thing for Prowl, huh?”

“I might,” Jazz replied. “Got any info I should know ‘bout him? To get on his good side and all that?”

“Oh, I think you’re already on his ‘good side’. Getting ‘im to cross into more than friends is somethin’ I got no good advice on, though.” Ironhide dimmed his optics.

“You already tried, huh?” Jazz asked.

Mouth twisting into a partial-frown, Ironhide rubbed the back of his helm. “Prowl is very handsome, but he’s got no idea at all that he’s a looker. I might’ve tried to woo ‘im a bit before we were assigned as partnered detectives. But he’s all work and no play.”

Jazz frowned a little. “Gotcha.”

“That said, I think he might have a little crush going on you. My advice is to be patient, don’t push. _If_ he’s gonna come ‘round, it’ll take time,” Ironhide replied.

“Thanks for the solid advice,” Jazz replied.

“Sure thing,” Ironhide replied. “Can I ask _you_ somethin’?”

“Shoot,” Jazz replied.

“You sure you’re not an undercover enforcer?” Ironhide asked.

“A _what?_ ” Jazz snorted and laughed at the idea. “No fragging way. I’m just an MM. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Ironhide looked unsure, but he nodded anyway. “Right, just wanted to ask.”

…

Prowl sat through the entire playback. In all his years as an officer, this was one of the more disturbing things he’d ever had to watch. It had been horrifying to see just how often Jazz had been mounted and violated in his almost four day stretch as a captive, and Prowl was eternally grateful for the lack of audio.

After choosing the best images of the serial rapist, he put his face into the enforcer database. It would alert all on duty officers to be on the lookout for him.

Leaning back in his seat, he stared at one of the sets of close ups he’d copied for identifying which showed the attacker leaning in to kiss Jazz. Prowl had seen him do it  on more than one occasion during the playback. That behavior shed more light on the depraved mind of this elusive criminal. Not only did he always grab a mech from a club, but he apparently wanted to share affection with his chosen victim. Prowl wondered if he was possibly stalking them ahead of time.

He opened up the interviews from previous victims on a datapad in his lap, and began to skim through the transcriptions. No one remembered anything, but he couldn’t help but go over the statements again after seeing how Jazz had been abducted. When he reached the fourth victim, he paused at a passage from the interview. Curious about a description, he opened the actual audio file and played it back.

_Prowl: What can you tell me about the evening leading up the black hole in your memories?_

_Bluestreak: I was walking up to the doors of that club, Glitch, and went inside… I don’t remember much after that._

_Prowl: Have you been to that club before?_

_Bluestreak: Yeah. I like it. Everyone uses that glowing paint and they turn down the lighting. It’s fun to get all painted up and go._

_Prowl: In previous visits, had you ever crossed paths with anyone who may have acted inappropriately with you?_

_Bluestreak: (laughing) You don’t club, do you? Everyone acts ‘inappropriately’. Clubbing is all about touching what you never could in any other sort of public place._

_Prowl: Then was there anyone at that club from the previous nights that stick out in your mind? Acted differently than the rest of the crowd?_

_Bluestreak: Well, yeah. This one mech. I don’t know. It was just odd, I like going to Glitch on the night my work week ends, and he’d been there every time. He seemed to always find me even in the dark, which did strike me as kinda weird. I mean, I don’t paint myself the same everytime, and it’s so dark in there. What are the chances, right? But he didn’t do anything that made me think he’s some criminal. In fact, he was sort of cute from what I could see, and I remember him because his frame shape was thin and elegant. Kind of an old-fashioned frame shape that’s not that common anymore._

Prowl stopped the playback, and glanced up at the still of the mech overtop of Jazz. The frame type wasn’t clear in that image though, so he started to click through some others. One still of the mech standing beside the berth, putting a mod over his spike showed a thin framed mech that matched Bluestreak’s description. “He _has_ been stalking them,” Prowl said with a grimace.

Downloading the relevant stills to his datapad, Prowl organized Jazz’s case file. It was only a matter of time before the enforcers picked up the rapist, and he wanted to be as ready as possible for the interview he knew was coming.

…

“Ha! I win again,” Jazz said.

While they were waiting for Prowl to return or comm them, Ironhide had pulled out his datapad and they were playing an electronic version of a strategy board game.

“Primus, you kick my aft at this just as much as Prowl,” Ironhide said, shaking his head and pressing reset for the board to go another round.

Jazz grinned. He’d never played a game like this before, but he found it pretty fun. Especially since he kept winning.

A knock at the door surprised them both, and Ironhide got up, answering for Jazz.

Prowl stepped inside the hotel room, and nodded hello to Jazz. “How are you feeling?”

“Doing okay,” Jazz replied, unable to keep from goofily smiling at Prowl.

Ironhide chuckled. “Don’t be so modest. He’s kicking my aft at that stradegy game you and me sometimes play.”

“Oh, really?” Prowl’s doorwings lifted up as he gazed at Jazz. “Perhaps we should try playing a game against one another at some point.”

“Ironhide just reset the game,” Jazz said. “We could play now?”

“As tempting as that is, I would like you both to come back with me to the station. They’ve picked up the mech we believe to be your attacker,” Prowl replied.

All the lightness Jazz felt quickly faded away. “I can’t remember anything, though? What good is it to have me there?”

“I think he may have been stalking you. You may recognize him,” Prowl replied.

Jazz’s good mood completely disappeared at that bit of news. “Oh.”

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but please know you’ve been a tremendous help already,” Prowl replied.  

Despite his reservations about seeing the mech that cratered his memory core after apparently using his body for whatever it was he did, hearing Prowl so full of hope and grateful made him want to help more if he could.

“Let’s get goin’ then,” Jazz said, getting to his feet. “Get this aft locked up so he doesn’t keep doing this slag.”

“Thank you,” Prowl replied, lightly touching Jazz’s arm.

Jazz beamed in response to the touch. “Just can’t seem to say ‘no’ to you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything starts to collapse in on itself, leaving Prowl to pick up the pieces and figure out what is going on with Ironhide's encouragement and help.

In the hallway outside the interrogation room, Prowl gently pat Jazz's arm. "The mech inside won't be able to see you. If you recognize him from another evening at the club let Ironhide know."

Jazz looked uneasy, but nodded. "Sure thing.”

They parted ways, and Prowl opened the door to the interrogation room ready to get a confession. After he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he took a couple steps and then glanced up from his datapad at the mech in question, which brought him to a halt. Were his optics fritzing on him? He quickly pulled up the image captures of the attacker from the case file on his datapad, then looked back at the mech sitting at the the table.

The face of the mech that had been brought in matched perfectly, but his body type wasn’t even close. In the image captures it was a thin-framed mech that looked to be a violet or purple color with silver features. The mech at the table staring up at him was deep blue with red accents and a pair or Iaconian-style doorwings. What was going on?

“Why did I get hauled in here?” the mech asked.

Prowl slowly stepped forward, and sat down across from the mech. “What is your name?”

“Skids. Now tell me what the frag I did to get my aft hauled in here,” Skids replied, clearly agitated.

Prowl flipped through the images to one of Jazz, then turned the datapad to show him. “Do you know this mech?”

Skids studied the image for a moment, then a look of realization blossomed over his features. “Yeah, yeah I do. He was this cute mech I was dancing with at the Blue Cube about a week ago.” Skids looked up at Prowl. “He said he was gonna go get another drink then never came back. I thought he was into me, but I guess–” Skids suddenly frowned at Prowl. “Did something happen to him?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied, pulling the datapad back.

“Wait a sec, do you think I did something to him?” Skids asked, optics bright. “I promise, I didn’t see him again after he left. Is he… dead?”

“No, he’s alive. But he was attacked,” Prowl replied. A knock on the one way mirror caused Prowl to frown. “I’ll be right back.” He got up and left, entering the room where Ironhide and Jazz were.

Jazz was hugging his own middle, backed up against the far wall away from the one way mirror.

“He says that’s not the mech.” Ironhide jerked his head in Jazz’s direction.

“Jazz?” Prowl canted his head, worried by his body language.

“That’s not the one. He’s a different mech. I saw the one you got in there from the stage one of the nights I mixed, and ‘cause I got a thing for wing panels, I made a mental note to find him my next night off,” Jazz replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Prowl flipped through some of the image captures he’d saved from the club, and found the one of the thinner mech. He carefully approached Jazz. “Would you be willing to look at this image for me? Tell me if you recognize him?”

Jazz turned his head, looking at Prowl with a frown. “That’s from my memory copy?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied, highly concerned by Jazz’s sudden shift in mood.

“Okay. Show me,” Jazz said, moving from the wall to stand beside Prowl.

Prowl held the datapad for Jazz to see the mech with Skids face, but some other body shape.

“That’s the face of the mech in there...” Jazz scowled. “But, that’s not him.” He rubbed his chin with one hand. “I remember that mech’s frame. He gave me a song he wanted me to put into my mix on my third night. That’s not his face, though.”

What was going on? Prowl frowned and nodded. He then powered off the datapad, and gently placed a hand at the center of Jazz’s back. “That helps me a great deal. Thank you.”

Jazz smiled a little bit as he gazed back up at Prowl. “Think maybe I could go back to the hotel now?”

“Of course,” Prowl replied. “Ironhide will escort you back, while I look into these new developments.”

Jazz practically bolted from the room, standing out in the hallway to wait for his escort.

Ironhide frowned at Prowl. “I’m not a bot-sitter, Prowl.”

“Then here,” Prowl pushed the datapad into his partner’s hands. “You need to go see Ratchet and ask about the wrong face on the right mech’s frame. When I combed through the transcripts from previous victims I found a similar description of this thin-framed mech.”

Taking the pad, Ironhide quickly scrolled through what Prowl had gathered. “I’ll go see Ratch. You make sure Mr. MM sticks around, and maybe see what his deal is. He walked in here and freaked out. He seems the most receptive ‘round you, so use that adorable smile of yours.”

Prowl pursed his lips.

“No, that’s your annoyed look. Do the other one that makes him all swoony over you,” Ironhide said, teasing as he grinned.

“You’re impossible sometimes,” Prowl replied.

“Nah, I’m just good at reading mechs.” Ironhide gave Prowl a hard slap on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the hallway and Prowl smiled a little at Jazz. “I’ll be the one to stay with you this time.”

Jazz perked up at that. “Okay, cool.”

…

Showing Ratchet the conflicting evidence lead to a long drive out to the Science Institute on the edge of Iacon. They arrived and took the elevator up to see the mech he’d used for cracking the memory files in the first place.

Walking in, Perceptor greeted them with a bright smile and before Ironhide could say a word, the scientist began to chatter away at them. “Welcome back, Ratchet! You’ll never guess what I found while looking over the processor scans. It’s _very_ intriguing, and I believe illegal in Iacon.” He then looked at Ironhide. “Hello there, I’m Perceptor. You are?”

“Ironhide,” he replied.

“This is one of the detectives working the case, Percy. Don’t mind his grumpy face, he always looks like that,” Ratchet said.

“Look who’s talking,” Ironhide replied, scowling at Ratchet.

“Hey, I’m a ray of starlight compared to you,” Ratchet replied with a huff.

“You both seem quite disagreeable, not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Perceptor said, defensively holding up his hands. “How about I show you what I found?”

“How about you explain why this mech’s face is on the wrong body?” Ironhide replied, holding out the datapad with the image captures.

Perceptor smiled. “I can explain that very easily: memory manipulation. Now, let me show you how much more complicated it gets.” The scientist spun on his heels and briskly walked back to his computer console.

“We’re both _‘disagreeable’_?” Ratchet mumbled as he followed.

Ironhide liked busting Ratchet’s gears, and he suspected it was probably likewise for his long time friend. In truth, despite their constant bickering, they both respected each other’s talents in their respective fields, and often got good results when they worked together.

“Firstly, before the memory manipulation and attempted erasure, this processor has been tinkered with on at least three occasions.” Perceptor pulled up a diagram on his screen. “In the scans I found three locked vaults of information and one larger section, which I suspect is his true identity.”

“ _True_ identity?” Ironhide asked. “What he’s not who he says he is?”

“He _believes_ he is who he says he is,” Perceptor replied. “But that’s based on implanted memories. I found them because they are all tagged with a specific numerical ending within the coding. Inside these locked areas, there are more of these tagged false memories.”

“So, wait, you’re saying someone went in, gave him a false memory and locked him into that section of his processor?” Ratchet asked.

“Precisely.” Perceptor pulled up a map of Jazz’s entire processor. “This region is who he really is. It’s this larger section linked to his memory core, and there is no barrier coding for it. These regions are locked with special coding, that I’ve never seen before, and I suspect is illegal. Right now, he is operating out of this locked portion,” he explained pointing.

“So he’s not an MM?” Ironhide replied. “Just thinks he is?”

“Correct.” Perceptor, then folded his arms over his chest, taking in the overall view. “What appears to have happened is that your victim was given this false persona to exist within. Why I don’t know, but I can tell you his kidnapper most likely knew about it. He went in and manipulated his memories, knowing full well you’d find the backup cache, hence the false face on the body. It’s possible to change a face in someone’s memory but nearly impossible to change an entire frame, explaining your discrepancy, detective. But he knew full well about the various locked portions, because the memory erasure was done not only to the persona portion, but performed it in such a way as to destabilize the coding right down to his memory core.”

Ratchet threw up his hands. “Wait, wait… He zapped Jazz in way that will destroy all this sub-structuring?”

“Oh, yes. He wanted to make this mech loses his grasp on reality. Once the coding unravels enough, all these other locked sections will start to bleed their way across the sections,” Perceptor replied. “When faced with a processor that is designed to catch you in the act, what better way to throw them off the trail than to break that processor as completely as possible?”

“Frag,” Ironhide replied. “We gotta let Prowl know.”

“Percy, is there anyway to save this mech?” Ratchet asked, looking horrified.

“Yes, I believe so. If you start with removing the tagged false memories, and then carefully extract the code that created the substructures in the first place, it should set his processor back to normal, assuming his own personality is strong enough withstand the procedure,” Perceptor replied.

“Who in the name of Primus is capable of this?” Ironhide asked, outraged by what had been done to this mech.

“This type of processor manipulation is not allowed in Iacon. I wouldn’t have a clue other than someone from another city state,” Perceptor replied.

Ironhide held up the datapad with the image of the attacker’s body shape with the incorrect face. “This is the rapist we’re looking for, though, right? Minus the face?”

“I believe so,” Perceptor replied.

Ironhide scowled at the image. “Let’s go, Ratch. You need to get Jazz back to medical, and me and Prowl need to catch the sick fragger that mucked up his head even more than it already was.”

Ratchet didn’t argue, nodding sharply. “Lights and sirens so we can speed?”

“You got it,” Ironhide replied.

…

Jazz flopped on his front on the berth and sighed. He watched Prowl gracefully sit down on the guest couch and smiled. He liked Ironhide well enough, but he was much happier to have Prowl with him. Especially after his near panic attack in the interrogation room area. That one-way mirror reminded him of that messed up dream he’d had.

“You mind if I crash out for a bit? I don’t think I’ve recharged too good in a few days now. I’m pretty beat,” Jazz said.

Prowl took out a datapad to read. “Rest, then. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

As Jazz relaxed right where he was, front first on the comfy berth, his optics dimmed. Just before he succumbed, a stray thought went zipping through his mind: _Trusting Prowl is how to get out of this mess you got yourself into._ He frowned a little, not sure why he thought that exactly, then slipped offline.

_Standing in line with two other officers, Jazz listened intently as their direct supervisor explained the program they were chosen for._

_“You each have strong personalities, which makes you ideal for this new kind of undercover operation we will be undertaking,” their supervisor, Blackshadow, said. “You will be so deep undercover, that your own true self and memories will not be accessible nor a liability when infiltrating.”_

_“Sir?” One of Jazz’s fellow officers frowned as spoke up. “Permission to ask a question?”_

_“Yes, go ahead,” Blackshadow replied, coming to a stop in front of him._

_“Will we remember anything afterward?”_

_“No, you will not. You will perform your assigned task, then be reset back to yourself after completion. Free to go on with your life, without suffering any of the consequences,” Blackshadow replied._

_Jazz wasn’t entirely sure this all sounded on the level. To go undercover and remember nothing of what they did? What if putting their trust in their superiors led to abusive situations? Problem was, Jazz and his fellow officers didn’t have much choice. They had to obey or be fired, and if fired they would become unemployable. Jazz had worked hard to get away from his street life beginnings, and had no intention of returning there now._

_“I’m ready for them.”_

_Jazz glanced over at the medic standing in the doorway. He was unusual-looking, with an elegant older-style frame painted in a deep purple color._

_“This is Strife, the medic who will handle implanting all your protocols and reset you after each completed mission.” Blackshadow gestured for them to go with the medic._

_Having no other choice, Jazz willingly went along with the others._

_Walking through the door, Jazz was shoved to the floor. The scene changed from the enforcer station to what looked like a nasty night club. He grimaced as he pushed himself to sit up._

_“On your feet!” A large, barrel-chested mech grabbed Jazz by the arm, forcing him to stand. He was then dragged over to a pole, one of several in the main area of the club, and was fitted with a collar and long chain leash that was locked to the pole._

_Confused, Jazz rubbed his forehead head, trying to remember how he’d gotten here. He was walking down the street, heading home from his shift at the local energon distribution center, when he’d been abducted off the street. He’d walked down a dangerous stretch of road, one he knew from news reports that had been the site of several abductions. Why had he walked that way?_

_“Club opens in five minutes. The clients tonight have paid upfront for all the available services.” The barrel-chested mech then smirked at Jazz. “Including fresh aft to break in. So everyone indulge them in any activities they ask for, so long as there’s no violence.”_

_That’s when Jazz saw other mechs being brought in and also secured to the other poles._

_When a waiter walked by with a tray, Jazz hissed to get his attention._

_“What services? What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Jazz asked._

_The waiter dimmed his optics and frowned. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re gonna be fragged every which way possible for the next few hours, so just try to relax and don’t fight the patrons.” The waiter then trounced off, leaving Jazz standing there with a dropped jaw. Had he been serious?_

_Club patrons began to filter in, meandering around. Jazz was felt up by several of them, and talked about like he was nothing more than a service drone there for them to get off with._

_“He’s got a nice, tight little shape. Wonder if he’s been used before?”_

_The barrel-chested mech came over at hearing that, handing the mech a glass of high-grade. “Never been used. Fresh catch for this evening.”_

_“I’d like to try him out, then,” the mech said before gulping down some of the high-grade. He handed off the half empty container to his friend and man-handled Jazz, turning him around to see which way he wanted him facing. “Hey, take an image capture of me and him, will ya, Flare?” He groped Jazz’s interface cover. “Open up.”_

_“I have a tool for that,” the barrel-chested mech replied, stepping in and using a plating removal tool to rip his interface cover off. “Enjoy, sir.”_

_Pulled so the mech was at his back, Jazz whimpered as he was fingered by the mech’s friend from the front._

_“Please, I don’t… I don’t know how I got here. Don’t do this,” Jazz pleaded._

_“He’s even cuter begging,” the friend named Flare said, continuing to finger his valve._

_The mech behind him started to rub his spike against Jazz’s aft. “Think he’ll cry if I dive in?”_

_“Probably,” Flare snorted._

_Jazz shook his head. What was happening? No, please… He felt the thick shaft of that spike slide into his barely wet valve. It stung as he forced himself in, and Jazz bit his lip to keep from crying. He didn’t want them to have the satisfaction._

_“Tight, but not lubed up,” the mech behind commented._

_“Here,” his friend said. The mech pulled out, and his friend poured some of the unfinished drink over his spike. They both laughed, as he turned and impaled Jazz again. With the high-grade, it slid better, but still hurt._

_“Please stop,” Jazz begged. “This isn’t why I joined up with the force. I wanted to help, not be used like this. My body bein’ treated like it’s expendable… Please–_ STOP!” Jazz’s whole body shook as sat up in the berth and fought to get his optics to focus. “I’m… I’m not an MM at all.”

“Jazz?”

He looked up at Prowl standing over him. “I need you to help me. _Please._ I’ve been forced to be some frag-drone by my own 'forcement office. They’ve been–” Jazz winced and cried out as a sharp pain shot through his head. “Frag! My head,” he whimpered as he curled in on himself. “I trust you, Prowl. I trust you to _help_ me,” he whispered before a wave of dizziness overtook him like a tidal wave and he felt his reality twist out of focus again, replaced with blackness.

…

Ironhide made contact with Prowl moments after Jazz's processor collapsed. Time had blurred after that; getting Jazz to medical center, Ratchet and Ironhide meeting Prowl there with a limp mech in his arms, Ratchet whisking Jazz off for emergency treatment.  

Jazz's prone form had been laid out on a surgical table, helm cracked open with wires plugged in all over his processor. Ratchet, his medics and a scientist named Perceptor carefully worked to repair the damages, combing through code and monitoring life signs.

Prowl couldn't tear his gaze away from the porthole window in the door to the surgical suite where the scene played out.

"Not like you to get so involved with the victims," Ironhide said from his seat in a row of chairs against the corridor wall.

"This is different," Prowl replied, gaze locked on Jazz.

"That's what I'm sayin'. It's weird to see you-" Ironhide frowned as he tried to find a suitable word. "Emotional?"

Prowl shifted his gaze to Ironhide. "This mech told me before he passed out that he'd been used by his own enforcement office as-and I quote-a 'frag drone'. If this information didn't anger me then I'd be a drone myself."

"Not what I mean. It's how you look at him. Even now, it shines in those optics of yours just how much you really like 'im," Ironhide replied.

Door wings lowering, Prowl frowned.

"That anger usually drives us to chasing every last lead to get justice. Not sit 'round waiting for a surgery that could last days." Ironhide held up his hands. "But if this is how you think we should spend our time, that's fine. You _are_ the lead on this case."

Glancing back through the porthole, Prowl sighed. Ironhide was right. "We need to find the thin purple mech who set this all in motion."

"We do," Ironhide agreed. "Jazz is in the best hands possible here, so let's go out and catch the fragger that did this."

Prowl lightly touched the glass window. _You survive, and we're going to go get you justice_ , he mentally vowed to Jazz. "Alright. Let’s find his attacker."

...

The search for a thin purple mech whose face they didn't have was daunting. The recognition software that located Skids was calibrated to facial features not body types, which made the search more difficult. This criminal seemed to know exactly how best to thwart their efforts. Almost as if he was an enforcer with inside knowledge.

"We got three more mechs the enforcers picked up for us to compare to the images," Ironhide said as he crossed over to Prowl’s desk. "Wanna go?"

Prowl nodded and pushed back from his desk to stand. They walked side by side down the hallway to the elevators and Prowl pulled up the image captures again on his datapad. Stepping on, he tried to memorize what he saw of the frame. Silver detailing, dark purple plating, thin and elegant... Prowl then saw something in the image capture of the mech putting the mod on that he'd not noticed before. He zoomed in on the lower corner of the image capture.

"Prowl! I don't need to see that fragger's spike up close!" Ironhide said, putting a hand over the datapad screen.

"I wasn't looking at his spike," Prowl replied as the doors opened to main floor of the enforcement station. They stepped off and Prowl pointed to the corner. " _This_. This is a processor scanner, like the one Ratchet used on Jazz when he first came in after his attack. What sort of citizen would have such a complicated piece of medical equipment?"

"You think this is what he used to zap the victim’s memories?" Ironhide asked.

"I do, _and_ I would venture to guess that there aren’t very many of these units sold to individuals. This clue might help us find our perpetrator," Prowl replied.

"Well, let's take a quick look at the ones being held first, then we can chase this lead down," Ironhide replied.

They walked into the interrogation room one. A thin purple flier build was pacing when they entered. He came to a stop and frowned. “I swear, I had no idea what was in the cargo. I just fly what my boss tells me to the locations, that’s it!”

“Not this one,” Ironhide said as he walked right back out.

Prowl sheepishly smiled. “This is a case of mistaken identity. My apologies.” He then ducked back out and followed Ironhide into the next interrogation room.

A lavender mech, thin and quite beautiful sat at the table. He was much too light in color. They didn’t even say anything, exiting almost immediately. Prowl grabbed the nearest enforcer and told him to release the mech in the room.

The third room held a dark purple mech, with silver detailing. Prowl pulled up the image captures to compare to and Ironhide sat down at the table across from him.

Folding his large hands on the table, Ironhide stared at the mech for a long moment.

“You going to ask any questions or just gawk?” the mech asked.

“Where are you from?” Prowl asked, trying to find some sort of identifying detail to confirm or exclude the mech before them.

“I live in Iacon,” the mech answered.

Ironhide sharpened his gaze on the mech. “He asked where yer _from_ , not where you are now.”

The mech folded his arms over his chest. “Polyhex, originally. I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

That piqued Prowl’s interest. He looked up from his datapad. “How long have you been in Iacon?”

“Three years. Would the two of you like to explain why it is I was picked up and brought in?” the mech asked.

“What’s yer name?” Ironhide asked.

With an exasperated sigh, the mech shook his head. “Striker. Now, unless you two have some sort of crime to charge me with, I think I’ll be going now.”

“What do you do for a living? And just so you know, we can keep you here for a day without charging you,” Prowl replied as he took a seat next to Ironhide.

Striker looked at Prowl. “Clever little lie, and very well told. I _almost_ believe you. Standard enforcement procedure says that unless there is a charge being brought, no one can be held for more than 4 hours, and my time will run out in about 30 minutes.”

Prowl leaned forward. “Are you an enforcer?”

Scoffing, Striker shook his head. “Of course not. I run a little shop in the merchant district with my beloved. We sell antiquities and off planet rare items for home decor. Our shop is called _Memortique_.”

“Then why do you know the procedures so well?” Prowl asked.

“Let’s just say back in Polyhex there was a lot of corruption in the force, and it was prudent to know all the rights I had as a citizen. It was one of several factors that precipitated our moving to Iacon, actually,” Striker replied.

Prowl nodded. “Thank you for being so helpful. You can go.”

“Prowl?” Ironhide looked over, clearly disagreeing with his choice.

“He’s done nothing wrong,” Prowl replied. He then stood back up. “I’ll get an enforcer in here to file your release.”

They walked back out, and Prowl directed an enforcer to let the mech go. He then pulled Ironhide into a nearby conference room, and closed the door.

“I think that was him,” Prowl said as soon as they were alone.

“Yeah, me too. So why the frag did you let him leave?” Ironhide asked.

Prowl dimmed his optics, looking at the image captures. “There’s more to this. I can sense it. He mentioned corrupt Polyhex enforcers. Jazz said he’d been used by his own enforcement office. Something… there’s something more here. I need to know what before we go diving in.”

“And if we wait, he trashes the evidence and gets away with it,” Ironhide replied.

“I want to do some record checking. I have a hunch I want to follow up. While I do that, how about you secure a search for Striker’s home? Then we’ll go in and see if we can get the evidence we need in Jazz’s case at least,” Prowl replied.

Ironhide nodded. “Alright. I’ll comm when I’ve got the search approval.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl gets to the bottom of the case, and the aftermath for both him and Jazz is a happy surprise.

Following his hunch, Prowl logged into the crime network from the terminal at his desk. It was a planet-wide database the Cybertronian council put into effect somewhat recently in order to help the city states better track criminals that would cross into other areas to avoid prosecution. He’d not used it that much due to the fact no file details were listed, only case numbers and general descriptions of crimes but that was all he wanted right now.

He typed in: memory loss, rape, Polyhex.

It took a moment to query the large database, but soon he got hits. A _lot_ of hits. He slowly began to scroll down, reading the general descriptions.

-Mech raped, no memory of incident. Unsolved.

-Mech held captive for three days, raped, memory wiped. Unsolved.

-Mech found near death, no memory of incident, evidence of rape. Unsolved.

“Frag,” he whispered. Suddenly connections began to form in Prowl’s mind. There were at least twenty, if not more, cases left unsolved in Polyhex. The latest date being two years ago, right when Iacon’s rapist appeared. The mech they’d interviewed claimed he’d lived here three years, and Prowl quickly opened a new window on his screen, searching for Striker’s citizen record. He’d lied. His citizenship application was from two years ago. “You’re the one. But how in the name of Primus did you operate in Polyhex for so long? And why did you target Jazz, an enforcer?”

Prowl’s comm link buzzed. It was Ironhide. ::Yes?::

::I’ve got the search approval. On my way over there now. You comin’?:: Ironhide asked.

::On my way. And just so you’re aware, I have just confirmed Striker lied about his timeline for moving to Iacon, and I suspect he’s responsible for numerous unsolved cases exactly like ours in Polyhex,:: Prowl replied, saving his new found data and putting in the case file on his datapad.

::Frag. Okay. We can’t let him slip away,:: Ironhide replied.

::I’ll join you at the residence shortly,:: Prowl replied before cutting the line.

There was still a missing link, though. It was definitely coming together, but he felt like there was a large part of the puzzle still in pieces. First thing was first. Get Striker into custody.

…

_Strife looked down at Jazz, optics darkened in hue as he ran a hand down his frame. Jazz pulled a little at the restraints, wanting to be free. His mind felt weird and foggy when he was hooked up to Strife’s machine for a full reset after a mission. He’d woken up like this two times now, strapped to a berth unsure what had happened to him with a worrying ache in his valve._

_“One day, I’d very much like to play with you,” Strife said, fingers lingering over Jazz’s headlight._

_Jazz shot the medic a dark look. He was trapped in this situation, unable to tell anyone about the inappropriate touching at this medic’s hands. The way he looked at him made his plating crawl._

_“How are you feeling, by the way?” Strife asked, hand pushing down Jazz’s abdomen slowly._

_“Great.” Jazz clenched his teeth, enduring it all. Unsure what else he’d been forced to do or let be done to him._

_Just before those long fingers reached his interface cover the machine pinged. Strife rolled his chair back to the machine and typed into it. “Seems your reset is all done.” Strife undid the restraints, and pulled out the wires connected to his processor. He then smiled at Jazz. “Be a good little enforcer and report in.”_

_Jazz practically bolted from the room, coming to a stop a few paces down the hall as a wave of nausea passed through him. He didn’t want to do this anymore. This wasn’t why he’d joined the enforcement agency. At this point, quitting or being fired seemed like the only way out. But if he took that path, he’d never find other work. Polyhex had no room for failed mechs, shoving all those who didn’t hold steady jobs into the gutter areas below the city streets. Jazz had patrolled there when he first joined. It was not a place he wanted to end up._

_Forcing himself to continue walking, he held his head high as he entered his supervisor’s office to report in._

_Blackshadow looked up from his datapad. “Memory wipe complete?”_

_“Yes, sir,” Jazz replied._

_“Just so you know, your participation in this mission was vital. We broke up a ring of kidnappers. Enjoy your next two weeks of leave,” Blackshadow said, smiling._

_“Thank you, sir.” Jazz slowly walked out of the office, his spark sinking. That ache in his valve… kidnappers… Had he been used as bait?_

“One of his core memory files is playing on it’s own.”

_Jazz frowned. Who said that?_

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes, that means he’s stabilizing.”

_The hallway he’d been standing in morphed into a hospital room. Confused, he cycled his optics off then on again._

“Hey and look at that. Awake,” Ratchet said smiling down at Jazz.

“I’m… in a hospital. You’re that medic, ah, Ratchet, right?” Jazz asked, trying to piece the weird mish mash of memories together into something cohesive.

“You’re in Iacon. You’re back in my medical center. We’ve been cleaning up the mess inside your processor. Honestly, wasn’t sure you’d come back to us so soon,” Ratchet replied.

“Is Prowl here?” Jazz asked.

“Nah. He and Hide are off looking for the mech that broke your processor.” Ratchet lightly pat Jazz’s arm.

“I–” Jazz frowned. The image Prowl had shown him, the one of the mech’s body. Then the memory of the mech at the club who gave him a song request with the same frame build, they were _that Polyhex medic_. The one that was always groping Jazz. “Strife. It was–” Pain shot through his processor and Jazz cried out, chest arching up from the berth, unable to finish his sentence.

Suddenly he felt hands on him, holding him down as a syringe was pushed against his neck, injecting something into his lines. The pain faded along with his focus on the world as he slipped offline again before he could explain.

…

Prowl arrived on the scene to find Ironhide had already served the search approval to the residents. Striker stood outside his home with his life partner, a smaller mech who seemed very confused.

Walking inside the home, Prowl spotted Ironhide. “Anything?”

Ironhide frowned. “Nothing yet. We’ve gone through all the rooms, but we’re doin’ another sweep.” Enforcers were milling around, looking through closets and desks for any sort of proof.

Prowl pulled out his datapad, and brought up the image captures once again, this time focusing at the shape of the room around Jazz. He then started to wander the residence searching for a match.

In the berthroom, he paused when he noticed a large chest of drawers pushed up against the wall in a strange place. It wasn’t in the corner where it would be less obtrusive, but right in the middle of the wall, sticking out. Stepping back, Prowl took in as full a view as possible, noticing lines that could be for a door that ran behind the out of place furniture.

Stowing his datapad, Prowl pushed on the drawer chest which easily slid aside. Fingering the edges, he found a small handle inset into the wall. Pulling, the door unlatched and opened. “Ironhide! I found something!”

Entering the hidden room, he deeply frowned. A berth with restraints was pushed against the far wall of the small room. A berthside table had the container he’d seen in the footage sitting on it. Peering inside the container, his fuel tank churned at the sight of the assortment of interfacing toys.

“Holy frag, a hidden room?” Ironhide said as he walked in.

Prowl turned, nodding. His gaze then fell on the piece of medical equipment stowed in the corner. He then pointed to it. “And we have his weapon of choice.”

Ironhide sighed. “Have to admit I got mixed feelings on all this. Glad we’ve got the evidence, but it’s cold comfort considering how many mechs he’s had in here and messed with.”

“I agree.” Prowl sadly frowned, hoping Jazz was doing alright back at the medical center.

“Time to put Striker under arrest an’ get some real answers outta him,” Ironhide said with an air of finality.

“Indeed,” Prowl replied.

…

Defiant expression etched into his face, Striker sat across the table from Prowl. Ironhide was on the other side of the glass to observe the interrogation.

“Tell me about this room,” Prowl said, pushing the datapad with the image captures in front of Striker.

“What about it?” Striker asked.

“A hidden room filled with all the tools to hold a mech prisoner. And this right here–” Prowl pointed to the processor scanner in the image capture. “–has been modified. It can wipe memories, rewrite them.”

Striker crossed his arms over his chest, remaining silent.

“How many in total have you had in here? Have many you raped and then burned out the memory of the events?” Prowl asked.

Scoffing, Striker shook his head. “It’s play room for me and my lover. Nothing more.”

“Lying to me isn’t going to help.” Prowl then pulled up one of Jazz’s memory files. The image showed Striker putting the mod on his spike. “This is _you_ from a downloaded memory file.”

Striker leaned in, and his defiant expression gave way to surprise, quickly followed by laughter. “I see you found the hidden prize.”

Doorwings twitching, Prowl frowned. “Excuse me?”

Lifting his gaze to Prowl, Striker’s smile took on dark overtones. “Were you able to retrieve the entire copied cache?”

“Are you admitting to your crimes?” Prowl asked.

“How scrambled _is_ his processor?” Striker asked in rebuttal. “I tried to be as thorough as possible when I went in and removed sections of the blocks.”

Prowl sat back in his seat, stunned. “So you _do_ admit to kidnapping and raping Jazz?”

Striker started to laugh again. “Oh, yes. I knew who he was the moment he went up on stage at the Blue Cube. The best part, though? They’d used my own tech to lock him in that persona so he had no clue who I was. I can’t even begin to tell you how much pleasure I took in finally getting to have him to myself. I’d fantasized about having him ever since he was chosen for the program.”

“ _Program?_ ” Prowl prompted.

Broadly smiling, Striker leaned back in his seat. “Well, you have your proof, so there’s no point to my denial now. I was hoping I’d managed to completely break his processor, but he must have been strong enough to hold it together. Otherwise, you’d never have gotten hold of his copied memories.”

“ _What_ program?” Prowl repeated.

“Firstly, my name isn’t Striker. It’s _Strife_. I’m the medic who developed the tech to help the Polyhex enforcers create a _very_ successful undercover operation. They chose three of their own with strong personalities. One for being put into organized crime and extortion situations, one for being used with the booster dealers, and one for the slave and interfacing trades.” Strife wistfully gazed off. “Jazz is a pretty little mech, and watching the things done to him–” Strife’s optics dimmed. “I had very much wanted to take him home with me to play but the enforcers kept such strict tabs on all of them. I never had a good opportunity.”

Prowl did his best to hide the combination of horror and rage rising inside him. This mech knew Jazz and _targeted_ him. And what was worse, Jazz had been used by his own force. It was almost too much to take in. “So, how- _why_ did you come to Iacon if this program was so successful?”

“Oh that,” Strife said with a sigh. “Well, I had been kidnapping mechs in Polyhex for years and years. No harm done, though. None of them remembered what happened after all. But the Polyhex enforcers didn’t see it the way I did. I was charged with several rapes and kidnappings, so I fled before they could arrest me. Of course, my beloved has no idea that was why we moved. He’s such a sweet mech. Overly trusting, which makes for interesting interfacing, I must admit.”

“But you were no longer under their jurisdiction. Why would they send Jazz here?” Prowl asked, trying to place the last puzzle pieces where they should go.

“They knew I’d go for the bait. Jazz was just too tasty to resist. I’m sure they thought I’d just wipe his memory like I did with the others and that he’d return to Polyhex reporting what happened when he was here. That would give them leverage with Iacon to have me sent back there,” Strife replied. He then leaned forward, darkly smiling. “But why would I simply wipe his memory? I knew they’d have his processor copying the memories. Perhaps they simply underestimated how good I really am. Only they really know, though. In any case, all I needed was a used processor scanner, some tools, and voila! I could _undo_ what I had originally put in place inside his head.”

It took every ounce of self control not to leap over the table and pound the smug smile off Strife’s face. Prowl’s doorwings quivered with his rage. “Your confession has been recorded. You will be processed and assigned legal representation.” Prowl pushed to stand.

Strife didn’t seem at all phased, and began to flip through some of the image captures from Jazz’s memories on the datapad. Prowl quickly snatched it from him.

“Aww, I just wanted to see how it was for him. If he enjoyed it,” Strife said with mocked frown.

Prowl marched out of the room. The minute the door to the interrogation room closed, he slammed his fist into the corridor wall, leaving a deep dent behind. Ironhide appeared from the adjoining observation room.

“How does a mech like that even come into existence?” Prowl asked in an accusatory tone as he looked at his partner.

“I dunno, but yer hand...” Ironhide said, looking concerned.

Looking down, he saw energon seeping from the crunched joints.

“Let’s get you over to medical. I’ll have the ‘forcers process that sick aft.” Ironhide gently touched Prowl’s elbow.

Absently nodding, Prowl let Ironhide guide him down the corridor to get treatment for his crushed hand.

…

Dimly lighting his optics, Jazz woke from what had been a truly restful feeling recharge. In his peripheral, he saw Prowl sitting at his berthside. He smiled a little at the sight of him. Absorbed in his reading, Prowl didn’t notice him stirring. Jazz reached up to pull on the edge of the datapad so he could see what had Prowl so enthralled.

Startled, Prowl’s doorwings lifted up and he quickly pulled the datapad from Jazz’s weak grasp. “You’re awake.”

“You sound surprised,” Jazz replied with a soft chuckle. “And you read romances? Never would’ve pegged you as a romantic.”

Prowl’s doorwings immediately flattened against his back as he hugged the datapad to his chest. “I’m surprised, yes. You’ve not woken in almost three weeks. Perhaps I should go get Ratchet.”

“ _Three weeks?_ ” Jazz replied with brightened optics behind his visor. “Frag. Last thing I remember was waking up to tell you it was Strife… Wait, Ratch told you what I said right?”

“We already had him under arrest when Ratchet informed us of your statement. Strife confessed, and said he’d targeted you. He also told us that you and two others were being used for an unethical program in Polyhex,” Prowl replied.

“He broke easy, huh?” Jazz replied. “What a sick-in-the-head piece of scrap.”

Prowl smiled a little at that. “A very accurate assessment.” He then canted his head. "How are you feeling?"

Jazz shrugged where he lay. "Rested but a little shell shocked too. Three weeks... Wow." He rubbed his face with both of his hands. “All those memories that were locked up are back in my main memory core. Everything ‘cept my kidnapping. It’s really weird. Feels like it all happened to someone else.”

“In a sense, it did. Those things happened to your personas, not who you actually are,” Ratchet said as he appeared in the doorway. "Welcome back from the brink." Ratchet half-smiled as and went to the monitor next to Jazz's berth and began to check the readings. “Was starting to worry you might not finish integrating all the pieces after we finished putting your processor back in order.”

Jazz grinned at Ratchet. “Thanks. I mean that. You both saved my life, literally.” He then glanced at Prowl. “And frag, if it weren’t for you being so cute, I would’ve booked it back to Polyhex. Stuck around ‘cause of you.”

Prowl’s optics brightened at the comment, and his passive expression quickly turned sheepish.

Ratchet started to laugh. “Wow. Never seen anyone embarrass Prowl before. Not even Hide, and he’s _really_ tried.”

Jazz brightly smiled and Prowl shook his head at him.

“So, what happens to me now?” Jazz asked, hoping he would be allowed to stay in Iacon.

“You stay here under my care for a few weeks. I need to be sure your processor is stable,” Ratchet answered.

“What about after that? I mean, am I gonna get sent back to Polyhex?” Jazz frowned a little.

“No. What was done to you and your fellow officers was unethical, and Polyhex Enforcement is currently under investigation by the Central Cybertronian Council. They would like your testimony when a case is finally ready to be heard. In the meantime, you have temporary citizenship here in Iacon,” Prowl explained.

“Cool.” Jazz sighed, relieved after everything he was finally safe again. He then shifted in the berth to better face Prowl. “So, you date mechs who've have had their heads scrambled?”

“Your head is fine now, is it not?” Prowl replied.

“Primus. I'll let you two have a moment,” Ratchet muttered as he quickly excused himself from the room.

Jazz snorted and laughed a little. He then gazed adoringly at Prowl. “Seriously. When I’m outta here, can I take you out?”

Prowl warmly smiled. “You may.”

“Fraggin’ awesome,” Jazz replied.

…

Jazz was nervous. He checked himself in the mirror of the hospital room one more time. He’d tried to wax his own plating, but it was hard to reach certain spots on his own. The light knock at the door make him jump. “Chill out,” he quietly hissed at himself.

Taking a moment to compose himself, he went to the door, and opened it. Prowl stood on the other side, holding a small box in his hands. “You look well.”

“I feel pretty alright,” Jazz replied.

“I did ask if I could take you off the medical center grounds, but Ratchet is a little worried after your last episode,” Prowl said, doorwings lowering a little. “I thought maybe we could take a walk around the grounds, though. The landscaping and gardens are very nice, and somewhat private.”

Smiling brightly, Jazz nodded. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

Prowl stepped back, and Jazz walked out. They then started down the hallway toward the elevators.

Jazz had been having short episodes where his persona memories would set off panic attacks. Usually it happened after he’d come out of his recharges and he always recovered quickly, but it had prolonged his stay here at the medical center.

“So what’s in the box you got there?” Jazz asked.

“A card game. I thought we could play and enjoy the gardens,” Prowl replied.

Jazz chuckled. “Such a romantic.”

Half-smiling, Prowl shook his head at Jazz.

They stepped into the elevator, and they chatted about nothing in particular. They walked out of the tower Jazz was staying in, and Prowl led them around the outside grounds. In a garden between two wings of the medical center there was a small table and large crystals carved into seating around it. They sat down across from one another, and Prowl set up the game.

Jazz made himself comfortable, watching Prowl dole out the cards. “So, what’s the word from the Council?”

“They have put your former supervisor and his manager, who sanctioned the program, under arrest. Strife is trying to make a deal with them for a lighter sentence, but after having close to forty cases of kidnap and rape linked to him, along with testimony from his lover about certain _instances_ , I highly doubt he will get what he wants,” Prowl explained.

Picking up the cards Prowl had dealt him, Jazz took stock, arranging them in his hand. “He already got plenty of what he wanted.”

Prowl hummed his agreement. “I think they will be asking for you to come in for testimony in a couple weeks. Once I know the dates, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Jazz placed his card down on the table, and took another one from the pile. “I’m ready to tell all when they’re ready to hear it.”

They continued to talk for a little while, about Iacon, about the case, about lots of things. Prowl won the first round, and Jazz the second. They’d reached a comfortable silence after a little while, simply playing and enjoying being in one another’s company. Jazz was more than just smitten with Prowl. He felt safe and comfortable with him in a way he didn’t with anyone else. He hoped Prowl would be patient and be willing to wait for him to get out of this place.

“Ha, I win again,” Jazz said, placing his winning hand down on the table.

Prowl chuckled, then leaned over the table, capturing Jazz’s lips in a sweet kiss. Dazed, Jazz stared at him afterward.

“Well then,” Jazz said, with a goofy smile.

Sitting back, Prowl warmly smiled. “I look forward to when I win this round.”

“You do, huh?” Jazz asked.

“I’ve upped the ante. I expect a kiss when I win,” Prowl replied.

Jazz burst out laughing, enjoying Prowl’s particular brand of humor and romance tangled up together. “You’re the best thing to happen to me in a very long time.”

“Likewise,” Prowl said, optics shining with all the adoration he clearly felt for Jazz.

…

The trial reconvened and Jazz was led to the witness box. He looked across the courtroom at Strife, Blackshadow, and another mech he’d not met before. All three were responsible for what he’d been through.

He also saw Prowl seated in the first row, and that helped calm his frayed nerves. The Central Cybertronian Council’s questioner soon started in, asking about the details Jazz remembered. He answered as thoroughly as he could, and kept glancing at Strife who was staring right at him and creeping him out.

Once the questioner for the Council was done, the representation for the accused began trying to pick apart the things Jazz said.

“As someone whose processor has been altered and repaired a multitude of times, how can we trust anything you tell us?”

Jazz frowned at the representor. “You don’t believe me? Go look at the copied memories. Not just a set from that sick aft, Strife is in there. There’s copies from my old missions, copies from my time as an enforcer.”

“And you are no longer an enforcer, true?” the representor asked.

“Well, no,” Jazz replied.

“What do you do now?”

Jazz grimaced. “I’ve been in the medical center, still undergoing treatment for what they did to me.”

“What they _allegedly_ did,” the representor corrected.

“No, for what they _actually did_. They ruined my life. They used my body as bait, and then Strife tried to break my processor. I get what you’re tryin’ to do, but those fraggers all deserve what’s comin’ to them, especially Strife,” Jazz angrily replied.

“There is no statement of fact in the last part of the testimony, I request it be removed from the record,” the representor said as he walked back to the table where the three were seated.

The overseeing council of judges murmured for a moment. “The statement will remain on the record," the lead judge replied.

The representor whirled around, looking angry at the decision, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Jazz smugly smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“The witness is released,” the lead judge then added.

Jazz was then taken out of the courtroom by escorts to the hallway. He sagged with relief, and took a seat on a nearby bench. He sat forward, holding his head in his hands while he tried to sort through all the emotions that were now churning inside him.

“Jazz?”

He looked up at Prowl standing in front of him. “Hey.”

Prowl sat down beside him, sliding an arm around his back. “Are you alright?”

Jazz shook his head as he sat up more properly. “Sorta wish someone would burn out Strife’s memory core.”

Giving Jazz a gentle squeeze, Prowl slowly nodded. “You did very well up there.”

“Feels like I barely did anything at all,” Jazz replied.

“I think your testimony will be vital in the council of judges’ decision making,” Prowl said with confidence.

Jazz turned his head and smiled at Prowl. “You know what would cheer me up?”

Prowl’s optics brightened. “Tell me.”

“A kiss from you,” Jazz replied.

“Your request is approved.” Prowl leaned in, and their mouths met in a lovely soft-mouthed kiss.

Jazz practically melted, and for the first time with Prowl he felt his array actually stir. They’d kissed plenty now, spent time dating as best as they could with him still being a patient at the medical center, but he’d not had a true ripple of desire for him. Not until this moment, anyway. The kiss broke, and Jazz turned to better face Prowl, fingers moving over his black and white chestplate.

“You think there’s a room we could duck into around here?” Jazz asked.

Prowl’s doorwings lifted on his back. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all. I just don’t think I can wait to get back to the medical center–” Jazz leaned close to Prowl’s audio. “–before I jump you.”

With bright optics, Prowl pulled back and stared at Jazz. “I have a better suggestion. You come home with me.”

Jazz vaguely shook his head. “Ratch hasn’t released me.”

Prowl gently cupped Jazz’s face and warmly smiled. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

Unable to stop himself from grinning, he fervently nodded. “Then let’s get the frag out of here.” He wasn’t going to argue against a much needed impromptu release from care. He was sick of being stuck in the medical center, and just wanted to feel normal with Prowl, even if just for the rest of the afternoon.

…

Lying back on Prowl’s berth, Jazz rolled his head back to bear his neck. Prowl mouthed and kissed his way down Jazz.

“You’re really alright with this?” Prowl asked, scooting backward as he kissed his way down Jazz’s chest.

“Primus, yes.” Jazz arched under Prowl. “I trust you.”

Prowl paused at that, looking at Jazz with warmth shining in his optics. “I won’t ever hurt you,” he quietly replied.

Jazz fingered Prowl’s chevron. “Knew that the moment you sat down and talked to me in the medical center when Ratch had me drugged and hooked up.”

Crawling up, Prowl laid overtop of Jazz and they shared a long, deep kiss.

Once the kiss came to a close, Jazz cupped Prowl’s face with both hands. “Primus, I want you so bad.”

Writhing over him, Prowl rubbed their closed arrays together. “Open up for me?”

Jazz did, whining when he felt Prowl’s spike rub over his valve entrance. How much did he trust this mech? Enough to let him spike him, apparently. “ _Please_ ,” Jazz begged, voice airy and thin.

Prowl kissed him sweetly, then slowly slid into Jazz. Shivering at the feeling of connecting to Prowl, Jazz dimmed his optics behind his visor. He lifted his legs up, hooking his feet over Prowl’s lower back. It was slow and gentle to start, each thrust sent waves of pleasure cascading through Jazz’s array. He was left whimpering and softly moaning each time Prowl pushed to the hilt, valve squeezing down on the perfectly shaped spike filling him.

Jazz had never had anyone be this tender with him while interfacing. It left his spark fluttering with intense affection for Prowl.

The pace eventually picked up, and Jazz grasped Prowl’s shoulders. “I won’t break,” Jazz murmured.

Prowl nodded at that, optics dark blue now as he thrust with more intent, jarring Jazz’s frame as he drove them both toward overload.

“Holy frag,” Jazz groaned, as his whole body began to quiver on the edge of overload. Moments later he succumbed with a full-frame shudder while he cried out. Pleasure spread through his entire array for a long, amazing moment.

Prowl continued to rock his hips. Just as Jazz started to come down from his own overload he felt liquid heat suddenly flood his valve. Prowl gasped then moaned, holding himself deep inside Jazz as he overloaded. The sensation of being utterly filled and the rush of hot fluid sent another smaller shockwave of overload through Jazz, drawing a whimpered moan from his vocalizer.

They sagged in a heated heap. Jazz nuzzled Prowl’s chevron and smiled. Desire sated, he happily reveled in the feeling of being close like this with Prowl.

“You’re alright?” Prowl asked, gently petting one of Jazz’s arms.

“Frag yeah,” Jazz replied. “Should tell the doc all I really need to get better is _you_.”

Prowl lifted his head up and gazed at Jazz. “Would you like to stay here with me? Permanently?”

Surprised, Jazz stared up at him unsure if he was being serious. “Really? What if I have a freak out?”

Prowl nuzzled his nose. “Then I’ll look after you, if you’d like.”

Jazz gazed lovingly at Prowl. “How could I say no to that?”

They shared a short kiss, sealing the deal. Pulling back, Prowl looked genuinely happy, and Jazz marveled at just how pretty he was.

“You got me by the spark, you know,” Jazz said, tugging on one of Prowl’s doorwings.

“Likewise,” Prowl replied.

…

Epilogue

The music in the club thumped loudly. To Jazz’s surprise, the Blue Cube had really liked his mixing and asked to hire him on. Unable to join the Iacon enforcement department because of his possibly unstable processor, he’d happily changed careers. He enjoyed the club scene quite a bit, indulging in delicious high-grades and dancing to the music as he mixed for the bouncing crowd on the dance floor.

At the end of the night, once the crowds were gone, he stayed behind, laughing and hanging out with some of the staff for a bit while they cleaned up.  

“Your handsome escort is here,” one of the staff said, pointing toward the back entrance.

Jazz flashed a grin at Prowl. “See you guys later,” he said as he quickly crossed the empty club.

“Have a good night?” Prowl asked as Jazz walked up and hooked his arm around Prowl’s.

“Yeah, I was pretty buzzed, but it’s wearing off now,” Jazz replied.

They exited the club, arm in arm to walk the handful of blocks back home. Jazz never imagined when he’d gone home with Prowl from the courthouse that would be it. Their relationship officially started that day, and they’d been inseparable since.

“Well, I was thinking we could share some of the Praxian crystal high-grade I have stashed away and play a game when we get back?” Prowl proposed.

“We could. Or I could just toss you down on the berth have my way with you, then recharge in a heap,” Jazz countered as he laughed.

Prowl leaned over and kissed Jazz’s cheek. “You’re trouble incarnate.”

“Yup, and you can’t resist me,” Jazz replied.

“I certainly can’t,” Prowl replied with a laugh.  
Jazz still had his moments where his persona memories would surface, but they were few and far between these days. When he did end up having a panic attack, Prowl was an expert in comforting and calming him down. This wasn’t how he expected his life to turn out, living in Iacon with a handsome enforcer and working at a club, but by Primus, it was a sweet life he enjoyed every moment of.


End file.
